The Rescue - Nicholas Sparks [49]
“Was that Carl Huddle who just hit that?”
“Yes. Carl’s actually one of the better players. He and Taylor played together in high school.”
For the next hour Denise and Judy watched the game, chatting about Edenton and cheering for both teams. The game was only seven innings and was actually more exciting than Denise thought it would be—lots of scoring and not nearly as many dropped balls as she’d expected. Taylor made a couple of plays to throw the runners out at first, but for the most part it was a hitter’s game, and the lead went back and forth every inning. Nearly every player succeeded in smashing the ball into the outfield, giving the outfielders some serious exercise. Denise couldn’t help but notice that the men in the outfield tended to be a good deal younger—and sweating far more profusely—than those in the infield.
Kyle, however, had grown bored with the game after only an inning and had taken to playing under and on top of the bleachers, climbing and jumping, running here and there. With so many people around, it made Denise nervous to lose sight of him, and she stood up to look for him on more than a few occasions.
Whenever she did, Taylor found his eyes darting that way. Earlier he’d seen her arrive with Kyle, holding his hand and walking slowly as she scanned the bleachers, oblivious of the fact that men were turning their heads as she strode past them. But Taylor had seen the stares, had seen them admiring the way she looked: her white shirt tucked into black shorts, long legs stretching down to matching sandals, dark windblown hair flowing past her shoulders. And for a reason he didn’t quite understand, he found himself envious of the fact that his mother—not he—would be sitting with her.
Her presence was distracting, and not only because he kept thinking about the things Melissa had said. The bleachers where she was sitting were between home and first base; his position at third base made it impossible not to see her sitting in the stands. Still, he couldn’t seem to stop glancing her way, as if to make sure she hadn’t left. He chided himself whenever he did it—wondering why it mattered—but would catch himself at it a moment later. Once, his stare had lasted a little too long, and she waved.
He waved back with an embarrassed grin and turned away, wondering why on earth he suddenly felt like a damn teenager again.
“So that’s her, huh?” Mitch asked as they were sitting in the dugout between innings.
“Who?”
“Denise, the one sitting with your mother.”
“I didn’t really notice,” Taylor said as he absently twirled his bat, doing his best to appear uninterested.
“You were right,” Mitch said.
“About what?”
“She is pretty.”
“I didn’t say that. Melissa said it.”
“Oh,” Mitch said, “right.”
Taylor turned his attention to the game, and Mitch followed his eyes.
“Then why were you staring at her?” he finally asked.
“I wasn’t staring at her.”
“Oh,” Mitch said again, nodding. He didn’t even try to hide his smirk.
In the seventh inning, with the score 14–12, the Volunteers were trailing when Taylor was waiting for his turn at bat. Kyle had taken a break from his activities and was standing near the fence when he saw Taylor taking his practice swings.
“Hewwo, Tayer,” he said happily, just as he’d done when he’d seen him at Merchants.
Taylor turned at the sound of his voice and approached the fence.
“Hey there, Kyle. Good to see you. How you doing?”
“He’s fowman,” Kyle said, pointing.
“I sure am. Are you having fun watching the game?”
Instead of answering, Kyle held up his airplane for Taylor to see.
“Whatcha got there, little man?”
“Owpwane.”
“You’re right. That’s a nice airplane.”
“You can hold it.” (You kin hode it)
Kyle handed it through the fence, and Taylor hesitated before taking it. He examined it as Kyle watched him, a look of pride on his little face. Over his shoulder, Taylor heard his name being called to the